Visited
by Julia456
Summary: Sequel to 'Strays'; crossover. It's always fun to visit new friends... even the scary ones.
1. Mild Mannered

Note: You know, when I started writing "Strays", I had no idea I would get four stories out of it. (And there are like, two more fics in the works. *foreheadslap*) Anyway. Start with "Strays", then read "Of the Rest of Your Life", then read "Lost and Found." And _then_ read this, which won't make much sense without at least "Strays." Sorry. :)

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_"Friendship increases in visiting friends,_ _but in visiting them seldom."_

_Francis Bacon  
_

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"You're an evil man," Lois says. The target of her accusation offers a sweet half-smile and makes no attempt to deny it.

"You told me, _knowing_ I can't do anything about it," she goes on, rooting through her purse without slowing her quick pace through the airport. "That's bad enough! And then the _way_ you told me -! I thought the _other_ reveal was awkward. Really, Clark, do you even think these things through, or do you just blurt them out?"

Clark Kent does his best to stifle his smile, but fails. When he'd told her his secret nearly a year ago – that he was Superman, he loved her, and had been effectively lying to her about both for years – the results had been mixed. She'd slapped him (hard), kissed him (harder), and then read him the riot act while he flew her to the ER to get medical attention for her broken hand.

Given that history, last week's revelation about the Batman's identity had gone very smoothly indeed.

_You'll never guess who the Batman is_, he'd told her. And before she'd had a chance to say more than _What?_ he was saying, marveling over it, _Bruce Wayne_.

It was major news, and they had all been euphoric over Jason's safe return. He felt he could be excused for having rushed the delivery a little.

He asks, "Did you want to hear it from Jason?"

"Hell no," she says, producing her press pass from the overflowing purse and flashing it at the security people. "From you was bad enough. I don't think I could handle being scooped by my own six-year-old."

Clark, dutifully showing his own pass, feels a wave of relief and guilt all at once: Relief that his son is safe, guilt that it took a masked vigilante in a dangerous city to produce that result. He feels even more guilt that Jason's father in all but fact – Richard White – did not come home alive. That was his failure, for neglecting his family in favor of the rest of the world, and he suspects that it will haunt him for a very long time indeed.

But overall, relief wins out. It's tough to be sad when Jason is whole and well and worried about homework, not kidnapping.

They slog through security and come to the thick knot of reporters, cameramen, legit photographers and paparazzi staking out the arriving flight. Lois' feet slow, and he trails to a halt with her.

"To be honest, it only became so – frustrating – this morning." She makes a suitably aggrieved noise and adds, lowering her voice, "Exactly how many _super_sized stories will I be expected to sit on, anyway?"

"At least two," he assures her, still smiling. "And a half."

"One and a half of those are worth it, at least." She stretches up to give him a quick but firmly affectionate kiss. "Let's just get this over with."

Clark agrees. He checks the knot on his tie and pushes his glasses up, then follows Lois as she bulldozes her way to the front of the pack. A reporter from one of the cable news networks gets jostled, scowls, and calls Lois a highly derogatory word.

Right behind her, Clark accidentally steps on the man's foot and, in the confusion of apologizing, accidentally melts the battery inside his logo-plastered microphone. Oops.

"What was that?" Lois asks when he joins her at the cordon designed to separate the fourth estate from the person they all came to see. A buzz goes through the crowd that the man of the hour has deplaned, that he's coming down the jetway, and everyone gets ready.

He glances over his shoulder at the reporter, who's frantically trying to figure out why his mike suddenly isn't working. "What? Oh. I think it's called karma."

Her eyebrow hikes up and she shakes her head, amused.

And then it's time to work, because Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, prince of Gotham, is walking with a casual smile and a confident stride into Metropolis International.


	2. Princely

"Bruce! Over here!"

"Mr. Wayne!"

"Bruce!"

"Bruce! Any truth to the rumors -?"

"Bruce! Look this way!"

"Mr. Wayne! Why are you in Metropolis?"

"Bruce! Bruce!"

Bruce smiles, waves, and ignores the usual barrage of inane questions and idiotic requests from people making their living in the lee of others' fame. Instead he scans the horde of media personnel, searching through the searing lights, strobing camera flashes, and outthrust microphones for someone who matters. Someone he expects to see. Someone he needs to have a conversation with.

There. Crowded against the edge of the cordon, recorder in one hand. Petite, dark-haired, attractive, a _Daily Planet_ badge clipped on her lapel, with a face he recognizes from her son's police file.

He detours from his intended path and walks over to her, turning the charm to its highest setting. Putting on the mask and using the theatricality to its fullest advantage, as if the only reason he'd speak to her is her pretty face and daring reputation. "Lois Lane, am I right?"

She smiles and for a moment looks exactly like her son: That same bright and lively intelligence is at work behind both their eyes. There's a sharp edge to her intelligence, though, that Jason White doesn't have. Sharp, and fiercely curious. She can't be easy to live or work with.

"Mr. Wayne," she says, entirely unafraid. Her smile widens a fraction. "Looking for an interview?"

"Maybe," he says, smiling back. "Do I have to wear tights and a cape?"

"Tights are optional. Capes aren't," she says, deadpan. The jealous newspeople crowding in around her, trying to get the story, give the line an appreciative laugh and watch for Bruce's reaction.

Bruce also laughs as though it's all a good joke. He makes sure the cameras record him eyeing Lois with idle speculation and a touch of avarice, and he knows they'll all report it as another example of his shameless flirtations: _Barely disembarked from his personal jet, Wayne stopped to talk with renowned local reporter Lois Lane, requesting a "private interview"..._

He laughs. But he doesn't find it funny.

He feels exposed, vulnerable – more so than if he were standing in the middle of the penthouse with the suit on but not the mask. The risk is perilously large and the situation is not fully under his control. Lois Lane knows the truth about him, and she might be _too_ clever. She might tip her hand right here in front of the cameras.

Of course, he knows the truth about her son, so it's doubtful that she'll reveal anything deliberately.

Mistakes happen all the time, however.

And she proves him right by making one. Lois gestures casually at the man standing behind her. "This is my partner, Clark Kent."

Clark Kent – black hair, blue eyes, tall, birth-control glasses and an ill-fitting suit - flashes an uncertain, lopsided grin. "Hello, uh, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce isn't impressed or fooled.

He says, "We've met."

Clark looks surprised. "We have?" he asks, so guilelessly, with such consummate skill, that even Bruce almost believes the confusion is real.

"Someone will call to set up an interview," Bruce says to Lois, ignoring her partner. _Someone_, of course, being Alfred. He wonders if Lois will recognize Alfred's voice – Alfred was the one who'd anonymously revealed Jason's location to her – and remembers that it doesn't matter, because they already know who he is. "I hope you don't mind working late."

Lois Lane says, "I'm sure you'll make it worth my while, Mr. Wayne."

"I'll try my best. Lois." He gives everyone another easy smile, a nod, and walks on.

He has sights to see, a reputation to confirm, and an interview to prepare for. He's in an unfamiliar city, with unfamiliar players, and he'll need time to properly plan things out.

After all: Capes are not optional.


	3. Intimidating

"Is he all right?"

Superman tilts his head slightly to one side. "He's fine. He's still asleep."

Lois feels little relief. The five years spent fretting over a medically fragile child have only served to prep her for more years of fretting over a superhuman one. "I don't want him to wake up without us there."

"If he does wake up – well. I can fly pretty fast," he says, smiling at her. Then he turns to look over the Metropolis skyline and a more serious expression crosses his face. "Here comes our visitor."

"Good," she declares. For one thing, her recently traumatized son is all the way across town, alone, and she wants to be there with him. For another, it's ridiculously cold and windy up here on the _Daily Planet_ roof, and it's nearly two in the morning as well.

Dark, cold, scary. She shivers and tries not to show it.

Superman steps back and shifts position, moving to block her from any danger as a sweep of black shadow lands on the rooftop.

Lois is having none of that. She comes out from behind him and says, "So just what _are_ you doing here in Metropolis, 'Batman'? Looking for better press?"

Batman looks at her for a long moment, then rasps out, "I'm here to reach an understanding."

Talk about dark, cold, and scary: All of Bruce Wayne's considerable charm is gone. She's taken aback by the transformation despite herself.

Superman is essentially Clark – the _real_ Clark, not the fumbling self-caricature – only amplified a thousandfold. Bruce Wayne to Batman, on the other hand, is a total personality transplant. And not for the better, either.

"About what?" she challenges, refusing to be cowed.

"Everything." Batman puts his attention on Superman, ignoring Lois. "My identity is a secret."

"Agreed," Superman says. "As long as you don't share mine."

"Agreed. Don't come into Gotham."

Superman nods. "I said that I wouldn't, and I still mean that. To be honest, it doesn't need my presence now anyway. You've done a remarkable job."

Batman waits a beat, then goes on in the same curt tone, as if Superman hadn't just complimented his work. "I work by myself."

"I don't usually need help," Superman says, sounding just a bit irritated now.

Lois doesn't blame him. She's _highly_ irritated. She's been shunted to the sidelines, and she's never been a big fan of sitting on the sidelines, especially when people are being rude right to her face.

"Gotham City is my priority. Not anywhere else."

"Don't worry, I won't expect you to join the jet set." Superman crosses his arms over his chest – exasperated at last, but still, of course, endeavoring to be polite. "Now, please understand this. I'm not willing to compromise Jason's safety-"

Batman says flatly, "That's why you left him alone tonight."

Superman tenses, frowns, and opens his mouth.

"So you _do_ have a superpower," Lois cuts in, not at all bothering to hide her anger at Batman. "Being a jackass."

Both men look at her, surprised that their macho pissing contest has been interrupted before it can even begin.

Superman, she knows at a sideways glance, is not really that surprised.

"You can't bully _Superman_," she says to their visitor. "And, for the record, a borderline psychotic dressed up like a bat is the _least_ frightening thing in my life right now."

"Lois -" Superman starts, sounding concerned.

"It's okay - I'm just trying to reach an _understanding_." She puts her hands on her hips and returns her full attention to Batman. "Maybe I agreed to leave my son and come stand on a freezing rooftop in the middle of the night because I wanted to say _'thank you'_ to the man who saved his life. Maybe I wanted to ask for a favor on my son's behalf. _Maybe_ I'm changing my mind because that man is too busy trying to intimidate the people he _should_ be working with, because he thinks being a billionaire jackass in a cape makes him superior. You're not, thank you. And if you _ever_ imply again that what happened to Jason was _our_ fault, I will make you very, _very_ sorry."

Batman looks at Superman, who raises his eyebrows and gives a little shrug – saying, without actually saying, _Go ahead, try your best_.

Dark, cold, and scary as their visitor may be, it's a foregone conclusion that Lois will win.

Batman's smart. He figures that out after a moment and says: "A favor."

Asking a question or apologizing is beyond his abilities, it seems.

Still, Lois smiles. "Just a small one. Nothing a big scary guy like yourself can't handle."


	4. And a Half

It's the hugest house he's ever seen.

Jason White looks all around, trying to see everything without letting go of his dad's hand as they walk through the big tall hallways. He wants to go exploring, but Mommy said no running off and always ask permission first before he touches anything. He has to be a good guest or Mr. Bruce won't let him come back.

He wants to come back. This is the coolest house _ever_.

There's a lot of dust and funny smells everywhere, and sheets on things and boxes and stuff. Mr. Bruce's helper, Mr. Alfred, said they were moving back in. Jason had to move out of his old house and into his new one, and it made him a little sad. But that was a long time ago. Months and months ago. He likes his new house now, even if it's just an apartment and not a big huge house like Mr. Bruce's.

He looks down at the floor and concentrates, biting his lip and squinting really hard. This doesn't always work for him and he starts to feel frustrated. Then the floor blurs and then – much to his delight – fades out. He can see a big dark empty space down there. Way, _way_ down there. And – whoa!

"Batman's got a motorcycle!" Jason exclaims to his dad.

His dad glances down at the floor. "He does. Maybe he'll let you look at it later."

"Maybe when I get bigger," Jason says, hop-skipping, "he can let me ride it. And you and me and Mr. Bruce can all go help people all together!"

His dad laughs. "That sounds like a good plan, Jason. But we'll see."

They stop at a big wooden door with fancy pictures hanging all around it. Mr. Alfred says, "And here we are. Now, before I leave you to your lesson, what would the young gentleman prefer as a snack?"

"Cupcakes!" Jason says instantly.

"No. He's allergic to wheat," his dad says.

Jason heaves a long-suffering sigh. "But I can eat the _icing_, Daddy."

"No. Cupcakes aren't a very healthy snack anyway. I'm sure Mr. Wayne has something better."

Mr. Alfred winks at Jason. "I don't believe that our ice cream has any wheat."

"I want _strawberry!_" Jason declares. Then he remembers what he's supposed to say and adds, before his dad can remind him, "Please, thank you."

"Well. Strawberry it is, then. And you're quite welcome," Mr. Alfred says, smiling at him.

His dad kneels and gives him a big hug. Jason squeezes back, then squirms free and runs to the door. "Bye Daddy!"

"I'll be back in a couple of hours, Jason," his dad says, but Jason has already opened the door and crossed into the room beyond. It's filled with all kinds of workout stuff and mats and punching bags and even a boxing ring.

He stares around, open-mouthed. This is _so. Cool_.

"Jason," Mr. Bruce says, and Jason spins around to see him standing by another door.

"Mr. Bruce!" He runs over and hugs Mr. Bruce around the legs. Mr. Bruce just kind of pats his shoulder, but Jason doesn't care. "I like your house! Can I see your Batman motorcycle later?"

Mr. Bruce gives him a funny look. "Why not?"

Jason bounces up and down, thrilled in his victory. "_Cool!_"

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Uh-huh," he says, bouncing. "To learn karate and stuff. Because Mommy and Daddy said I gotta learn to be safe, and not break things. They said you're the best and Mommy asked you special to teach me."

"That's right." Mr. Bruce still looks friendly, but also very serious. He walks over to the mats and Jason follows, feeling a little scared and a lot excited all at the same time.

"Okay, Jason," Mr. Bruce says. "Are you ready to begin?"

**--****end--**


End file.
